The warehouse personnel had been protected by the counter-top itself. In the lobby, Sergeant Ondru's uniform looked as if he had been dragged through barbed wire on his back, and the tear in Breisach's scalp was no less bloody for being superficial. Breisach's obscenities were uncontrolled and unintelligible, but Ondru retained enough rationality to pick a scapegoat.

Ondru leaped to the counter. He was tall enough to look Hodicky straight in the eye, even before he gripped the Private by the collar and dragged him forward.

"Now Sarge-" the little private cried, scrabbling at the back edge of the counter to avoid being pulled onto the lobby floor. "Now Sarge, we didn't-"

"You little bastard!"Ondru shrieked. "You kept the gate closed so we eouldn't get in under cover, didn't you? Hoped we'd be killed! Well, you little prick, I'll show you killed!"

Smiricky #4 was on permanent Yellow Alert. Officers and non-coms were required by regulations to go armed at all times. Ondru carried his assault rifle in a patrol sling that cradled it muzzle-forward at his waist. Like the Intruder patch he had bought from a drunk in Praha, the sling was the affectation of a man who had not seen combat in the seven years of bitter war that had wracked Cecach. Now it put the grip of the rifle in place for the Sergeant's right hand. He raised the muzzle at the same time as his other hand dragged Hodicky's face down to meet the weapon.

Private Quade hit Ondru across the temple with the edge of a metal-covered receipt book.

Ondru dropped as if his legs had been sawed off at the knees. There was a pressure cut through his blond hair, as clean as anything a knife could have left. The book flew out of Quade's hand and flapped into a lobby wall. Hodicky lurched back when the Sergeant released him, but his companion had already started to vault the counter and finish the job. Quade s mouth was open but soundless, and his eyes held no expression at all.